


Same Old Mistakes

by cowpoke69



Series: Do Not Seek Absolution [6]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Arthur Is An Emotional Mess, Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M, No Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 21:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowpoke69/pseuds/cowpoke69
Summary: A collection of stories set before the events of RDR2.“Does it hurt?”“Nah. It’s fine.”Fine. It’s fine. Everything is always fine. He’s been lying to him for a while now. And he wonders why he still does it. What kind of horrible truths has he been hiding from him? From them. Hosea tried, at least a few times already. But nothing came out of the boy’s mouth, apart from the usual “No, Sir” and “I don’t wanna talk about it” followed by silence. He seems to open up only when Dutch talks to him. But despite his growing curiosity, Arthur doesn’t say anything. He just cuts and cuts until John’s hair gets shorter.





	Same Old Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> _I can read your silence._  
>  When everything is a riot,  
> You're my peace and quiet.

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah. It’s fine.”

Fine. It’s fine. Everything is always fine. He’s been lying to him for a while now. And he wonders why he still does it. What kind of horrible truths has he been hiding from him? From them. Hosea tried, at least a few times already. But nothing came out of the boy’s mouth, apart from the usual “No, Sir” and “I don’t wanna talk about it” followed by silence. He seems to open up only when Dutch talks to him. But despite his growing curiosity, Arthur doesn’t say anything. He just cuts and cuts until John’s hair gets shorter. And when he’s satisfied with the length, he lets him go. The boy mumbles a few words of gratitude and starts walking away as fast as he can. Arthur tosses the pair of scissors back where they belong and leaves his tent. Sunshine greets him, immediately followed by Dutch and Hosea’s voices.

“Do you even trust me?”

“This has nothing to do with trust, Dutch. You’ve gone mad.”

“Tell me, Hosea, when did you start losing faith?”

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

Arthur watches as the two of them walk past him. Dutch is walking ahead of Hosea. He’s been doing much better. The wound is still healing but he refuses to spend any more of his days in bed, much to Hosea’s dismay. But Arthur has a feeling that they’ve been arguing about something else. Something more pressing and more urgent in Dutch’s mind than any wound will ever be. And now that they’ve stopped near Dutch’s tent, everyone in the whole camp and in a radius of two miles is able to hear the subject of their discord. Hosea snaps; his tone frightening. Arthur focuses on the clouds and the way they’ve been forming all sorts of blurry shapes against the blueness of the sky.

“This thing that you always do when things don’t go your way. I ain’t killing another goddamn O’Driscoll, do you hear me? This feud between you and Colm; it will be the end of us. We don’t need this, Dutch. Our faces have been on posters and newspapers all over the state. Do you even understand what that means? Arthur’s face. On a fucking poster. There’s a bounty on his head. He’s only twenty-two for fuck’s sake.”

Dutch’s response is venomous. And Arthur wonders if he’s hasn’t gone mad. 

“You’re doing this for her.”

Every single member of the gang seems to be holding in their breath. Susan – who’s been smoking near Arthur’s tent – looks at him. A few strands of black hair fall around her face. Arthur tries to ignore the way her features seem to perfectly mirror his anxiousness. The Callander brothers stop playing dominos. Even little John stops tugging at the few inches of hair left on his head in order to look up, from here he’s been sitting – against the trunk of Arthur’s favorite tree. Arthur suddenly wants to get out of this place. Anxiousness slowly grows inside of him. Hosea doesn’t immediately reply. But when he does, Arthur wishes he would’ve remained silent.

“You really want me to make a choice, don’t you?”

Dutch doesn’t say a thing. And when Hosea leaves, he doesn’t try to stop him. Susan does. She talks to him while he goes through all of his personal belongings. She follows him when he goes up to John in order to give him one of his books. And she gives up when Hosea mounts his horse. And then it’s Arthur’s turn to run after him while he’s riding away. He calls out his name, in vain. For what seems like hours on end. John watches as he starts tearing up, on his way back to camp. Out of frustration. Hosea is gone and it’s all Dutch’s fault. Arthur goes back inside of his tent. Sits on his bed. Cries. Because there’s nothing else he can afford to do. 

━━━━━━━━

Arthur watches as the flames consume the pile of wood. Some of them dying mid-way through their dance. Some of them burning bright and fierce until the end. The sound of people chatting around camp makes him sick. Hosea’s been gone for too long. He’s alone. Again. He tosses the letter into the fire. Going back into town would be considered suicide at this point. Eliza will understand. She’ll forgive him. Dutch wants them to move as soon as possible, but Arthur’s been avoiding him, and whenever he calls out his name, he pretends not to hear him. Ignoring him won’t solve anything, but facing Dutch would mean forgetting about Hosea.

He doesn’t mind John when he sits next to him, on the dirt. Since Hosea left, the boy has been following Dutch around camp like a guard dog. Dutch spends most of his days trying to teach him how to read, and sometimes, when she’s in a good mood, Susan takes him to an empty field in order to fire a few shots at some glass bottles and empty cans. Frequently, Arthur catches him looking at him when he’s drawing, and occasionally he allows him to go through the pages of his journal. When the boy asks for a cigarette, he tears his gaze away from the fire in order to look at him. It’s the first time he’s ever initiated a conversation.

“Tell me you ain’t serious.”

“But it’s my birthday.”

“There’s no way I’m letting a kid smoke. Besides, I’m sure it’s not your birthday.” The boy is way too grim to be a summer child.

“Why is that?”

“Jus’ got this feeling.”

The boy snorts before tossing a small rock into the fire. 

“That book Mr. Matthews gave me. I like it.” At the mention of Hosea, Arthur’s heart shrinks a little bit.

“What’s it about?”

“A feller who’s trying to escape from his wife, so he goes up to the mountains with his dog. His name’s Wolf. The dog. And that feller, he meets a mysterious man in the mountains. Mr. Van der Linde stopped reading around this part. I don’t know the rest of the story yet.”

“Rip Van Winkle”, Arthur smiles, “I know his story. Hosea used to have me sit around a fire, just like this one, and make me read it when I was about your age. You’re lucky, Dutch is one hell of a good story-teller.”

Silence. Again. The boy looks at the fire. Or rather looks into it. The orange light hits his face in all the right places. The bridge of his nose, his chapped lips, his dark pupils. Arthur wishes he would talk to him. Tell him exactly what his story is. Where his parents are, what lies inside of his heart, half hoping that he’ll be able to relate to him, in some sort of way. But John doesn’t speak. So Arthur takes out his journal and he does what he’s been doing for the past few days. He sketches. John, his unkempt hair, his small hands clasped around a twig, the fire, the little patches of grass here and there. The blurred tree line in the horizon. John doesn’t move, not until Arthur is done. And when he’s finished, he tears the page out from his journal and gives it to him. If John’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.

“What’s that for?”

“Didn’t you say it was your birthday?”

John doesn’t reply, but his smile gives away all the things Arthur has been dying to hear. There’s a bit of happiness and an unhealthy amount of pain behind the curl of his lips. And suddenly, Arthur doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t want to know. Some things are better left unsaid. 

━━━━━━━━

Arthur is standing inside of Dutch’s tent. It seems unnecessarily big next to the tent he has to share with John. He looks at the books on his end table. He looks at his old phonograph and realizes it hasn’t been playing music for a while now. And then he looks at the rings adorning Dutch’s fingers. And the letter he’s been holding on to. Arthur considers getting out of the tent before his anger gets the better of him. He doesn’t want to go after Hosea. But he cannot wrap up his head around the idea of Dutch going after him. Because, in the end, Hosea is the one who always seems to find his way back to him. Back to Dutch. And with all of his heart, Arthur wishes that things were different. 

“Why don’t you go up to him? It’s your business after all.”

Dutch’s brows furrow. He’s not used to be denied something nor contradicted. Especially not by Arthur. 

“Because – I trust you Arthur, and I need to stay here in order to plan our next move. It’s not my business, it’s our business. We need him as much as he needs us. We both know that. Don’t we, son? I need you to do me this favor. Please, Arthur.”

“What if he says no? What if he doesn’t want to come back? Do you ever think about what he wan–”

Dutch stands up. And all of the sudden, Arthur wishes he would’ve remained silent. And when Dutch is near him – when his hand goes up to rest on his shoulder – he exhales, a little too hard, a little too scared. Dutch looks at him, silently, as if he’s trying to figure out what his next move should be. And Arthur’s hand reaches for his gun, a reflex, but Dutch doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he looks at him with cold, cold eyes and his fingers squeeze around his shoulder.

“I miss him, son. Very much. Don’t you miss him as well?”

Arthur’s jaw shuts tight. His hand stops fiddling with the grip of his gun. And he thinks he might be the one going insane.

“I do.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“I’m sorry Dutch, I – I’m just a bit tired and I – I do miss him. I’ll go up to him.”

Dutch smiles at him and the warmth slowly finds its way back inside Arthur’s heart. In his mind, there’s a voice screaming at him but he shuts it off. He misses Hosea, terribly. The tears gather at the corners of his eyes. He fights back. He tries, as hard as he can. And entirely gives up when the hand that was on his shoulder slides up to the nape of his neck. He’s tired. Of everything. He just wants Hosea back. Dutch’s other hand goes up to his face, his thumb stops the course of a tear near Arthur’s mouth. He feels trapped and freed at the same time. Dutch holds on to him for a while, looks at him, studies him, before letting go. Arthur feels the loneliness creeping up on him. Again. He grabs the letter.

“I love you. Don’t you forget that, son.”

━━━━━━━━

It’s a one-day ride to Bessie’s home. The cabin stands at the end of a rocky path, next to a little pond. The sun shines through the trees and covers the wooden exterior in a patchwork of shimmering lights. Arthur praises his horse and feeds her an apple while searching for Bessie and Hosea. He spots them resting under a majestic willow tree, by the water. Hosea’s head is resting on her lap while she reads to him out of a large and heavy book. Home. Arthur feels like he’s finally back home and somewhere inside of his mind, Dutch’s eyes are watching him. Judging him. Begging him. 

Everything looks like it came out of the pages of a fairy tale. The flowers, the pond, the little house and the way Bessie’s fingers play with Hosea’s hair. Arthur feels out of place. His grey shirt feels too dirty, his father’s hat too large. They look so happy. And he hates himself for being the messenger sent to disturb their peace. When Bessie spots him; his pace quickens. He suddenly feels the urge to hear her voice. To see her up close. It’s been so long. And when she rises up to her feet in order to pull him into a warm embrace; all is well. Even if it only lasts for a fleeting moment. 

“Arthur.”

He doesn’t reply. He holds her tight. Close to his heart, close to his fears.

“You’ve grown so much.” She lets go of him and he wishes she would’ve held him a bit longer.

“Miss Bessie. I’m happy to see you.”

“It’s Mrs. now.” Arthur’s heart shrinks, again, and it feels like it could entirely disappear and he wouldn’t even mind it.

Her eyes light up even more, “I’ve missed you Arthur. Very much. You’re so tall now. Isn’t he my love?” she turns to Hosea.

He’s been standing behind her, holding onto the book. Arthur focuses on the cover, deliberately ignoring Hosea. It’s an encyclopedia. She’s been reading the Encyclopedia Britannica to him and Arthur wishes he could snatch it out of his hands in order to find the words that would best describe how he feels. Betrayed. Foolish. Hurt. And when Hosea grabs onto his arm in order to bring him into the little house, he doesn’t fight back. He follows him until they’re both sitting at the dining table, surrounded by all of Bessie’s belongings. The fact that her whole life fits into such a tiny space makes him nauseous. 

“Arthur, look at me.”

Arthur doesn’t look. He thinks about the last time he saw Hosea. He thinks about the past few weeks. He thinks about the tears, the sleepless nights, the loneliness. 

“You didn’t even say goodbye to me. You just left. You didn’t even bother looking at me. And you got married without even asking me to be by your side. Really? What’s next? Huh? You’ll leave for some place up North and send us Christmas cards once a year? I can’t. I just can’t do this. Not without you. I can’t. Dutch, he’s – he’s been losing it since you left. And he needs you. We need you. I need you Hosea.” The words roll off his tongue, they hurt, but he doesn’t mind the pain. 

“Arthur, look at me.”

Arthur looks at the ground, at the embroidered carpet, at the pretty colors. After what seems like an entire lifetime, he finds the strength to look at Hosea. And even though he could touch him if he reaches out; it won’t be enough to fill the growing hole in his core.

“I miss you. And it’s breaking my heart.”

Hosea’s leaves the chair he’s been sitting on. And Arthur leans into his arms when he hugs him. His mind is on the verge of exploding but the tears do not come. There’s no need for tears. Not anymore. Hosea doesn’t need to say that he is sorry. He doesn’t need to reassure him. The tenderness of his embrace is enough. He doesn’t need to explain his reasons. Arthur knows them already. In the end, Hosea’s heart remains big enough for the three of them. And this matters as much as the entire universe. This matters as much as his entire life.

“I know you always come back. But this time – this time I really thought that you were gone for good.”

Hosea hugs him tighter. “I might be older than you, but you’re dumber. By far.”

Arthur laughs. Tilts his head up to look at him. He’s missed him. 

“I have something for you.”

Bessie comes in. Her expression brightens up when she sees them.

“Can it wait?” Hosea asks.

“Yeah. It can.”

━━━━━━━━

They’re sitting at the table, after diner. Bessie and Arthur share a few drinks of cherry liquor and exchange a number of concerned looks. Hosea reads the letter. He’s gone, in a faraway place, hidden inside of his mind. And after a few minutes Arthur notices that there is actually only one sentence written over and over on the piece of paper. The same three words, apparently so meaningful that Hosea cannot stop reading them. Arthur’s curiosity gets the better of him. From where he’s been sitting, across the wooden table, he tries to make out what the upside down words mean. It doesn’t take him too long to figure it out. 

_I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you._

The letter lays flat against the table, and Hosea seems to be thinking. So hard and so loud that Arthur could hear him if he really wanted to. Hosea remains silent, face buried into his soft palms. Arthur gives Bessie a sorry look. But there is nothing to be sorry about. She knew what she had gotten herself into on the day she decided to fall for Hosea. She looks at the letter, then at Hosea, and finally she leans in to press her cheek on her husband’s shoulder. She loves him, so much that it gives her the ability to let go of him. To share. Arthur knows as much as she does that Hosea will eventually concede. Because that’s what always happens. Hosea leaves, Dutch pleads; and he goes back to him. It’s a never ending circle. Vicious. Wicked. Passionate.

“Go with Arthur,” she says.

Hosea shifts a little on his chair, a muffled sound comes out of his mouth. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re not leaving me. I can live without you, you know that. I want you to do the same thing. Besides, you’re always in my mind. Dutch needs you.” Hosea starts coughing and Arthur stands up in order to pour him a glass of water.

“Hosea,” he says, voice as soft as he can manage, “You can always come back whenever you want. Dutch just needs you right now, but when things get smoother he’ll let you go. Ain’t that right Mrs. Bessie?”

Hosea finally shows his face. Tiredness has spread all over his features. Arthur wishes things were easier. And he thinks about Eliza’s letter, for no particular reason. Or maybe for all the good reasons. Mentioning it right now would be foolish. Irresponsible. Selfish. Hosea needs some time. He should probably wait. But keeping this secret inside of his mind will drive him over the edge. It is already. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t confess what’s been on his mind right here, right now. 

“Hosea.” Arthur’s tone is shaky, Bessie looks at him, Hosea follows. “I fucked up. I really, really, really fucked up.”

“What are you talking about?” 

Arthur stands in the middle of the room. The walls of the cabin seem to get closer and closer to him and he suddenly wants to leave. He’s suffocating, fighting for air. His knees give up and he wants to scream but he doesn’t. Instead he just thinks about that letter. About the way he just threw it into the fire, because he was too scared to face the consequences of his actions. He thinks about Eliza and the fact that she’s probably as fearful as he is. Hosea kneels, next to him, on the carpet. And this time, Arthur finds the strength to let the tears escape his trembling body. Hosea’s voice is soft, sweet, soothing. He’s scared to death but he’s got him by his side.

“Tell me, Arthur.”

“I need to protect her. I need to get her somewhere safe. If Colm learns about this, he’ll get to her. He’ll use it against us. They’ll hurt her. They’ll kill her.” His heart crumbles into a pile of ashes. 

“What do you mean?” Hosea doesn’t even need to ask who it is he’s been talking about. He knows. He knows exactly why Arthur’s been writing and receiving letters every single week since he came back from that night in Munford. He knows exactly why he looks so conflicted most of the time. Why he’s been spending more time drawing instead of actually writing what lies inside of his head in his journal. Some things are better left unsaid. 

“They’ll get to her. They’ll kill her. They’ll kill the child.”

Hosea freezes, only for a moment, before he fully understands the meaning of Arthur’s words.

“I’m scared, Hosea. I’m scared.”

And soon enough, two pairs of arms are pulling him into a much needed embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> howdyyyyyyy, thanks for reading, don't be afraid to leave a comment, lots of uwus. the lyrics quoted in the first notes are from the song 'tyrant' by kali uchis. you can find me on twitter @cowpoke69.


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